


The One's We've Crossed

by greyheart



Series: Tamer Fantasy AU [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, Good Slade Wilson, Guilt, I'm not going to tag the, M/M, Surprises, or at least surprisingly good Slade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyheart/pseuds/greyheart
Summary: The time for the battle against the Syndicate has come and the League is surprised when they receive help from an unexpected source.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Tamer Fantasy AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716403
Comments: 6
Kudos: 127
Collections: SladeRobin Weekend 2020





	The One's We've Crossed

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2: Earth 3
> 
> Alright, hopefully this isn’t stretching the prompt since this AU I’ve created brings the Syndicate in a different way and is a presence throughout.

  
  


The southern forest was deceptively quiet, especially in this time before dawn. But the animals had abandoned that area of the woods so there were no birds to sing in the day. It was fitting for what was about to transpire.

From the east to the west the members of the League and their region’s armies formed a barrier in defence of Metropolis. Really it was a battle for the entire land, this was simply where the Syndicate had chosen to face them.

Bruce looked to the west, where his people had been stationed only a few hours ago. Now they were here, on the far east end of the line and Queen’s forces had taken their place. And all for the word of an enemy.

Former enemy if he was to be believed.

“Are we actually trusting the Deathstroke?” Tim asked as he finished securing his armor, the bat on the chest plate less pronounced with the bronze finish.

Bruce took a moment to once again study the mercenary as everyone milled around forming the ranks. Bruce had been counseling with Clark and the other League members when the man and his horse had appeared out of nowhere only a short distance from the front line. Torches lit the area but he didn’t move a step as archers fired and the arrows passed through him as if he weren’t even there, some soldiers calling him ghost. He demanded an audience with them, claiming he could help them obtain victory.

Heated words were exchanged and Bruce thought there was nothing that could sway their view of the mercenary until he had dismounted and, in one smooth motion, his side sword was drawn and immediately turned, it’s point touching the earth at the same time as the man’s knee.

Bruce had blinked in surprise; knowing that movement well. 

When the mercenary spoke, his words silenced the field.

_ “I, Sir Slade Joseph Wilson, knighted in the birth of this land, in a time before the League, when but one true king reigned, pledge myself to the destruction of the Syndicate…and loyalty your leadership in this...one battle.” _

The moment was pure and Bruce believed him. He didn’t want to but he did. Wilson was a knight, one from a time long ago. There were many rumors surrounding the man but this was never one of them. Even with the unnatural longevity of the Amazons and the Els, none would have lived long enough to be able to confirm his story. Perhaps Hippolyta, but she had passed when Bruce was still a child.

And then, as if to completely throw them from their balance, Wilson turned the sword once more, holding it out toward them. No, toward Clark.

“ _ As a testament of this oath, I present to you, Lord Kent, Kal, of the lost line of El, the sword of King Jor-El, entrusted to me upon his death,” He looked up to them as gasps sounded among the ranks, “If you would be willing to forgive an oath so long overdue.” _

Bruce couldn’t recall hearing of the mercenary ever using a longsword before, clearly preferring the two rapiers strapped to his back, but he knew of accounts where one was described as attached to Wilson’s horse. To think that all this time Jor-El’s sword was so close, out in the open.

And now here they were only a few hours later, changing their battle strategy on Wilson’s word.

“We are,” Bruce confirmed, still feeling shaken himself, “Gather the knights and bring the horses forward,” he commanded Tim as he made his way next to Wilson on the front line.

The man had refused to be separated from his steed, a surprisingly clean black stallion and was even now murmuring reasurances to it while he finished braiding its mane.

“With our plans depending upon you so fully, Sir Wilson,” Bruce broke in, “I find it disconcerting to find you attempting to force a bond with a stolen horse.”

The horse’s head lowered as Wilson turned to him in surprise, “Stolen?”

“As I recall, you’ve had a chestnut mare for about the past ten years and she was very much a mare. Not to mention the gold seems out of character,” he motioned to the front legs, where a glimmer of gold could barely be seen in the predawn light. “You’re planning to take a show horse into battle?”

Wilson laughed, sounding delighted, something Bruce has never heard before, “Renegade is a beauty to be sure, but he is far from a show horse. And we have an understanding, don’t we, boy?” he asked, patting the stallion’s side, “I would pit him against any warhorse in the field. As for the gold...I’ll see what I can do about removing it later.”

Bruce prided himself on a certain level of perception, though that pride had taken a severe hit recently, and while he believed Wilson did want the Syndicate defeated...there was something else. Joining them in this was a goal but also a means to an end.

And Bruce was never one to mince words, “What do you want, Wilson?”

“Besides what I’ve already said?” He sighed, a straightforward man himself, “In honesty, I want to prove of value that I might ask for a boon.”

Bruce frowned, “A boon from the League?”

He turned to face him, “From you, Wayne.”

On principle, Bruce didn’t like the sound of that, “Ask it now and I’ll tell you if it’s even possible.”

After a pause, “I want to question Thomas Wayne about your missing son.”

Bruce tensed at the mention of Dick. The pain there was still fresh. Discovering that Dick had been the Knight’s owl, had been forced to act as a Talon, terrorizing and murdering innocent people, had shocked the family to their core. Bruce would only allow himself to dwell on this knowledge when alone. He hadn’t told anyone how close he had come to killing Thomas’s familiar and he wouldn’t now that he knew it had been Dick. Gods, he had been so angry, so heartbroken over Thomas, and those feelings had only intensified as he had searched the cavern and seen proof of the horrors he had woven. Seeing the owl had been too much, knowing that Thomas had used it to hurt not only others but also Jason, his own nephew, who had nearly lost his eye. The fear it...Dick had displayed when Bruce drew his blade would haunt him for years to come. He had almost killed his son.

With the threat of the Syndicate hanging over them, they put what efforts they could into the search, Jason and Damian personally going out, but the trail had run cold at a black market auction in Keystone weeks ago. 

Bruce pushed away the memory of speaking to Thomas about the matter. That twisted man wasn’t his brother anymore and had only been angered when he’d gleaned that Dick was missing. Though Bruce had attempted to control the conversation it had gone nowhere after that. He hated the possessiveness Thomas now freely displayed over Dick, only referring to him as Talon, hated that he had failed so completely to see it before. In fact, in the past, he had been happy that Thomas had taken a liking to Dick. His brother had always been more negatively affected by their parent’s murder and Dick had seemed to bring out his long forgotten happiness. Now those memories were tainted with Thomas’ true intentions.

They had kept the knowledge of these things as guarded as they could, that Wilson even knew Dick was missing was upsetting, “What do you know?”

“Far more than you, I’d wager. But your brother won’t laugh in  _ my _ face, Wayne, I’ll get my answers,” his demeanor softened, and he once again patted the horse’s side, “And I’ll bring your son home.”

“Then he’s alive?” Tim asked, leading his and Bruce’s steeds forward, followed by Jason.

Wilson nodded, “Alive but...trapped in the manipulations of the Court. Thomas is the only one who will know how to free him.”

They waited but he didn’t continue.

“You will tell us nothing else?” Jason demanded.

“There is nothing else to say on the matter,” he tightened his saddle, “Not yet.”

Bruce began checking his own gear, the looming battle a constant in their minds, “I don’t care for your interest in Dick.”

He could hear his smile when Wilson responded, “Who would, who truly cared for the little bird?”

Again Bruce tensed, along with his sons. Those words were chosen. Wilson was purposefully revealing that he knew another very guarded secret. How long had he known? Did Dick know?

Wilson continued, “But you cannot deny our legacy. Or have you not heard the fable of the robin and the snake?”

“A cautionary tale.”

“The story of a clever bird,” Wilson corrected.

“Why not seek Thomas while we’re occupied?” Tim asked, suddenly.

“Yes, that would be more simple, wouldn’t it?” Wilson asked no one, sounding perturbed. “However, the land barely stays in one piece as it is and that is largely due to the leadership of the League and their good character. We would burn and crumble under the Syndicate. It is an unfortunate truth.” 

He did sound honestly regretful.

“You’re helping us because it’s the right thing to do?” Tim asked in disbelief.

Wilson gave a quiet groan, giving a sharp tug on the stallion’s braid, which, surprisingly, the animal simply shook off, still keeps its head turned away, “If you wish to see it that way, then who am I to deny my merit?” The horse cantered closer to Wilson and the man barely sidestepped in time to miss his foot being crushed by a hoof.

They were interrupted by Damian riding up, fully outfitted in his modified armor, a green bat clear on his chest, “It’s time,” a horn sounding right after him. 

They finished their checks and adjustments and mounted. All but Wilson, who was staring at Damian as he tried to settle a suddenly anxious Renegade, “How old is this one? Are you knighting children now?”

The teen bristled, answering for himself, “Not officially, but I am as worthy of the title, no matter my age.”

At Bruce’s nod Jason moved his horse next to Damian’s speaking quickly as the young man's eyes narrowed, “I don’t envy Clark, facing his dark reflection after the thing lost the woman he loved...if they can love.”

“It may be hard-won,” Tim countered, “but the darkling is alone, while Clark has not only the sword of Jor-El now, but also Kon by his side.”

“He should have Jon as well,” Damian grumbled.

“You were trained by the Shadow Assassins, Damian,” Bruce reminded, “Jon was not. Would you truly wish him here?”

Damian frowned, “No. I…” he adjusted his grip on the reins, “Richard should be with us. It feels wrong for all of us to be here and ride without him.”

“Please,” Kate scoffed, moving by on her horse, the bright red mane of her helmet blowing in the breeze, “If Dick were here he would lock you in a tower and would be flaying my cousin for allowing you on this field. You would have been left with Jon if there was any confidence you wouldn’t sneak out and disguise yourself among the soldiers.”

Wilson’s Renegade snorted, the man pulling the reins to steady him.

They all knew it to be true enough, which had Damian snarling at her retreating back, “I am hardly helpless,” he turned back to them, “Do not pretend that I cannot see your shared looks and repositioning. I will not be looked after as a babe.”

Jason heaved a sigh, looking heavenward before turning to his brother, “You are formidable enough on your own, Demonspawn,” smiling at the resulting scowl, “But together,” he leaned closer, “we are Death.”

The frown turned thoughtful and Damian settled in the saddle, giving a short nod, “Agreed.” 

“Is this how you prepare for battle?” Wilson asked, finally mounting, “Reassuring one another? I don’t know why I expected anything else. You could do with a bit more bravado, you’re about to become legends.”

“Or dead, if you’re lying,” Jason countered.

Wilson paused as he was lifting his helmet, “If I were to purposefully lead you to harm my bird would never forgive me,” he turned to them, smirking, “And I certainly can’t have that.”

  
  


Wilson was right. After the battle, tales would be told. Songs sung in praise and honor of Lord Kent, wielding the sword of the One King and fighting with the strength of an army, standing over the shattered remains of his evil reflection. Ballads of the unearthly skills of the Amazons, of the flashes on the field as lightning was thrown from unknown members of the central ranks, and of the Titans, of the power and skill they showed, once shunned but now celebrated. However, there would be no songs for Gotham. The tale would be whispered of the Knights of Gotham, moving as one, not hesitating at the pikes and riding through the southern line of the enemy as if they were ghosts and destroying them from within, the embodiment of vengeance. 

It was all dependent on Wilson. He could give them five seconds, he said, no longer, during which they would be untouchable, like he had been when he had first arrived. Bruce didn’t know how he did it, but they rode through the pike line and soldiers behind them. At Slades yell they began trampling the enemy and their battle began.

Wilson had come with the Syndicate’s plan, their enforcement of the eastern line to break through the League’s and through to their back, surrounding them. But now the Gotham troops had reversed their strategy, crippling them.

The exact numbers were unknown but it seemed almost half the Syndicate’s forces were those reanimated by the necromancers of the Court of Owls. In armor it was difficult to tell the difference, so for all, beheading was the final blow, since it was the only way to kill the walking corpses.

They battled on and Bruce could feel the moment coming close, when victory would be assured, when the tide would turn fully in their favor.

Then the horses began to scream, some riders thrown in panic.

Something shifted on his side until the stone he had placed in the hidden sleeve flew out, spinning in the air. It didn’t grow, but Raven’s voice sounded loud and clear though the battle continued.

“He’s coming,” she yelled, “Owls are attacking! The Talons are running on air, I don’t think they’re human.”

They heard cries from across the battlefield, from the north west. Toward Gotham.

Thomas.

They had taken the army. He would have been far less guarded.

“Lord Wayne, they are reanimated spirits, they…” The stone dropped as a flash of purple light could be seen in the distance.

“Father,” Damian called, and Bruce turned toward him, “He’s coming for you.”

Everyone was facing the direction of the screams and growing shadows but he had turned and so Bruce was the only one to see it. 

Across the field, closer to the tree line, Wilson leapt from his horse, having somehow been able to stay mounted thus far. The horse reared and as it did its form shimmered until there in its place stood Dick. He moved to Wilson quickly, his face determined as he grabbed the man’s arm, saying something but then his gaze moved to the north west until suddenly he was staring back at Bruce in surprise. For only a second. One second to take everything in that he could, including the golden eyes. Then Wilson was motioning toward the woods and Dick’s features shifted from defiance to fearful before the air around him blinked and a bird took flight. Nightwing.

“No,” he whispered, reaching out as his son flew away. Thomas didn’t care about the Syndicate, he would see the sway of the battle and know it was lost as a whole. Coming now would only be to further his own goals. Bruce turned quickly toward the oncoming Talons, “Not for me.”

He had no time to think more on what he had just witnessed before the shadows swept in, barely contained in the armor of the Talons, clearing the way for the Knight of the Owls.

Bruce was right, his brother didn’t turn to fight him. He had never faced him in the past either. Whether that was because he cared just enough for his younger brother or because he had known Bruce would have recognized him immediately, mask or not, he didn’t know. But enough Talons swarmed him that he at least knew Thomas wasn’t planning to underestimate him. His sons were well attended as well, none able to break away toward Thomas, who met Wilson’s charge head on in a flurry of movement. 

He was unable to spare another moment’s attention for fear of being swamped by the sheer number of Talons. They were not as skilled or as strong as the ones in the past but they seemed unstoppable.

“Taking their heads isn’t working!” Tim yelled, after some time, his endurance, like the rest, beginning to wane after hours of fighting, “They’re only spirits in the armor.”

“Right,” Jason growled.

The determination in his voice had Bruce turning in time to see a green glow emitting from his helmet as he flung his arms out and down, twin blades unfolding into existence alight with fire.

Fear seized Bruce's chest, “Jason, no!”

Ignoring him, Jason ran forward, “Lay them out!”

They all complied as quickly as they could, knowing the toll the weapons cost and the Red Hood cut through the Talons, leaving nothing but empty armor in his wake.

Stabbing the last one through the chest, Jason stumbled, the fire growing smaller.

Tim was immediately at his side, “Put them away!”

The flames died, taking the blades with them and Jason fell unconscious into his brother’s arms.

Bruce whistled for his horse as he ran to them, immediately pulling off Jason’s helmet and taking in his ashen skin. When the mare arrived, he carefully helped them into the saddle, “Get him to the city!”

Tim nodded, taking off at a sprint.

“Damian!” Bruce turned, almost tripping over the boy, his son’s eyes wide as he watched his brothers racing off. Pulling him close Bruce scanned the area. Only humans would have the will to retreat and that was all he saw of the enemy at his front now.

It was finished, or near enough.

As he thought that though, he tensed again, his mind catching up, and he searched the battlefield more earnestly.

But there was no sign of either Thomas or Wilson.


End file.
